A Soldier at His Own Expense
by Lobuck
Summary: Faidn has settled back into normal life after 'Not All Surprises Are Pleasant', but is once again dragged into adventure by a man with ill intentions. Both Faidn and his father have something to learn if the villain is to be outwitted. Billios approved!
1. The Race

**Dun dun dun! The Spin Off has arrived!**

** InChrist-Billios has been amazing enough to allow my rookie hands to type up a plot of my own invention with her wonderful character Faidn and his family. **

**In this particular chapter, I do not own a single character of consequence. Except maybe the horse.**

**Check out Billios' latest work, 'I Do, But That's It', which takes place in the same time frame as this story. **

**Read on, if you are daring! Or even if your not. And try to enjoy.**

* * *

_"Then I must have a steed on land," I said, "and a steed surpassingly swift, for I have never had such need for haste before."_

_—from_ The Lord of The Rings, _by J.R.R. Tolkien _

* * *

Faidn gripped Emers' black mane until his hands hurt. His father had hold of her bridle and was leading them to the twine stretched across the track as a makeshift starting line. 

"Remember," Hollen was saying, glancing up at his only son, "this won't be at all like the racing we used to do in Venshire. These are rough men, on rough horses, probably all having a run of tougher luck than we are."

Faidn glanced at an unshaven man on a powerful-looking chestnut. The man had rouge's murder for eyes. Faidn turned his attention back to what his father was saying.

"So be careful. If they can reach you, they'll try to knock you out of the race-physically. Emer's probably the only filly out here, and the smallest by far, so they'll try to bully her around. She has the speed, so get out front and stay there. Watch your opponents, don't let them sneak up on you. Don't get boxed in, you'll never make it out. Any misunderstandings?"

"Take the lead, keep the lead, and don't get killed." Faidn replied as they reached the twine. He felt Emer's nervousness in the tremble of her taut muscles, and tightened his hands accordingly as she tried to start forward.

"Basically." Hollen smiled grimly, "You know I'd be on her if I could, but I'm too heavy. We wouldn't have a chance with my bulk on her."

"Even so," Faidn added, "I seem to be the largest rider out here."

Hollen glanced at some of the other jockeys. Taking a swill of gin he shrugged,

"Not really. Tallest certainly, but you haven't filled out yet. You all set?"

Faidn eyed the metal canteen his father clutched with hidden disapproval. Whatever had been bothering his father over the past several days had driven him back into his old habit of drinking.

"Yes sir. I'll be careful, we'll be fast. Anything else?"

"Win." added Hollen sternly, "We can't afford to lose."

Faidn raised an eyebrow and patted Emer thoughtfully. He hadn't known his father was betting on them. Hollen turned and moved off the track, calling back over his shoulder:

"And whatever happens, _don't_ let your mama know."

Faidn rolled his eyes, shouting as a nearby gelding nearly crashed into his mount.

"Easy, Emer," he murmured to his steed, trying his best to keep both of them out of harm's way.

The gelding was a huge dark bay, Faidn's experienced eyes measured him up to be about seventeen hands. Big enough to squash the petite Emer into a pastry. While the rider on the bay struggled to keep his horse under control, Faidn sized up the competition. The bay next to him was the largest, he could also see a golden palomino that he judged to be fairly swift. He was certain he could hold his own against the rough crowd, but the short, stocky, ill-looking man on the chestnut had him intimidated. When the flag was dropped, Emer, with Faidn on her back, sprang forward like a doe out of a trap. They managed to scrape out the lead position, and tore away down the wide path, scared hearts pumping in unison.

Faidn glanced back over his shoulder to see how much lead they had. The palomino was right along Emer's right flank, the bay just behind. Both their riders gave him looks of ill intent.

"More like a fox hunt then a race," Faidn gasped to Emer, pushing her forward, "And we're the vermin."

A few moments more, and the palomino was right alongside them, pushing them to the outside. Emer lengthened her stride as much as she could, her eyes wild with fear. She was certainly not used to situations like this. The palomino was tiring, they were on the last stretch, and pulling ahead.

"We've got it." he whispered, relaxing, and leaning back.

Suddenly, there was a flash of color beside them, and Faidn discovered himself not only trying to ride a frightened mare at top speed, but struggling with another rider who was attempting to knock him to the ground. He found himself yelling, though it wasn't doing much good. They were only seconds away from the finish line, when the savage blows took their toll, and Faidn fell violently onto the hard packed earth. He rolled instinctively away from the pounding hooves, and lay gasping and stunned in the grass. Emer crossed the finish line first, but it didn't matter. They were disqualified. Faidn hadn't remembered the chestnut and his rider until it was too late. Half of him didn't care; he really hadn't felt like racing. The the other half felt terrible for his backside once his father was done with him. He heard the ferocious stamp of Hollen's boots, and struggled to his feet.

"How dare you!" his father yelled, and Faidn could smell the alcohol on his breath, "How dare you take it easy in the last stretch! You were almost there, and you blew it!"

"Yeah, well I didn't want to ride your stupid race anyway." Faidn gasped honestly between heavy breaths, green eyes dark with embarrassment.

Furious, Hollen raised his hand to strike his son, and Faidn's left arm came up to block it.

When the two collided, the boy let out a scream louder then the crowd's roar. He bent over in pain, tears leaping to his eyes.

"What's the matter with you, boy? Huh?" Hollen demanded angrily. Faidn was too pained to realize that his father's anger wasn't directed towards him.

"Oh, my arm!" he gasped, settling down a little, "I think I broke it in the fall."

"Probably, knowing you."

Broken bones were a common occurrence for the men in the O'Neil family.

"Let me catch Emer before some horse thief does," Hollen said, heaving a sigh, "and we'll get home."

Faidn felt along his arm tenderly, trying to decide how bad the break was. It wasn't good. He groaned a little, but growing accustomed to the pain, was silent. He watched his father's retreating form, half-hating the man, and _almost_ smiled when he heard him mutter:

"No hiding _this_ from Liza."

* * *

**There it is for the first chapter. Final word count is 1009.  
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**Oh, the T rating is just to be safe. Hopefully it won't be necessary. **

**Love to know your opinion, and you can certainly influence this story with it! **

**Root Beer floats to reviewers! **


	2. Throwing Stones

* * *

**  
Once again, I own no characters here. Oh, except that Jakob man. But he's not really here. Just mentioned. **

* * *

_'The man pack are angry. They throw stones and talk child's talk._

_My mouth is bleeding. Let me run away.'_

_—from _The Jungle Book_ by Rudyard Kipling._**  
**

* * *

"You let him do _what_?" Eliza was nearly in tears as she shaved down wood for a splint for Faidn's arm.

"There was no other choice, Liza! Hand me those sticks."

The splints were applied, not without some difficulty, as Faidn was still shaking from the excruciating experience of having his arm set. Hollen was not a gentle man.

"Please tell me," his wife demanded, wrapping her boy's arm, "why you needed the money, Hollen!"

"That Jakob man came by last week," snapped her husband, sipping a cup of lukewarm gin, and eyeing the work done on his son's arm.

There was a sharp inhale from Liza, and she dropped the roll of gauze.

"Oh no."

"He wants the five thousand in two days."

"Five thousand what?" asked Faidn, startled at this information, "In gold? Great skies, Da! Why didn't you tell me? I could have won race if—" he stopped before incriminating himself, but it was too late.

"If you'd tried? I told you to win, did you not believe me?"

"No Da, I mean, I was tired, I didn't think it was that important..."

"Of course not! Whatever you think must be right, Faidn!" Hollen exploded, throwing his head back to take a sip from his acohol-filled canteen.

"What happens if you don't get the money? And what does the guy want it for?" Faidn asked, trying to move past the scuffle.

"He says we owe him for the land and the house, but I paid that off twenty years ago. He's charging outrageous interest, and it looks like he's got the authority to throw us in jail unless we pay up."

"We'll figure something out," Eliza offered, moving forward, "perhaps your friend, Faidn. Carvin could give us a hand, since he—"

"Shut up, woman!" Hollen yelled at her, his pride too great to consider asking help.

Something in Faidn snapped and his eyes flashed.

"Don't talk to my mother that way!"

Hollen leapt to his feet, his chair skittering into the wall with a crash.

"And don't you talk to me like that, lad!" he yelled, taking a draught of gin as if it would clear the argument from his mouth.

"I knew you wouldn't last!" began Faidn, holding his injured arm against his chest and motioning towards the canteen, "Anytime anything gets hard, you're gone! You leave us for drink!"

It wasn't really fair. Hollen had hardly touched alcohol since Faidn returned from Ellespeth. In fact, the last two years were the most peaceful they had known.

Nevertheless, Hollen stepped up to this challenge bristling, and only Eliza saw how much it hurt him.

"Is that so, lad?" he returned. He only said 'lad' when he was furious.

"You know it is. You hardly even try." Faidn was shaking, and seemed to grow younger with every word he said.

"You want to talk about trying, don't you? Who dropped school?" Hollen demanded, stepping towards him. Faidn was taller then his father by several inches, and Hollen still managed to look down on him.

"It didn't suit me," he defended.

"Nothing suits you." snarled Hollen, "Not your house, not your parents, your work..."

"You wouldn't say that if your weren't drunk," Faidn snapped, trying to ignore the terrible feeling he got from seeing his mother cry.

"I wouldn't be drunk if you hadn't lost us all that money, from your slacking off!" he yelled, raising a hand.

"Go ahead and hit me," said Faidn, trying not to wince, "show me how much of a man you are."

Hollen hesitated. It was something Faidn had never seen him do. He looked like he was about to apologize. Faidn could never understand why he said what he did afterwards. Perhaps he was angry with himself, which is when it's easiest to speak cruel things.

"You never were much of a man."

Hollen, with practiced temper, walked right up to him, until they were practically touching noses.

"Then enjoy this. It's the closest you'll ever be to manhood."

* * *

On his way out the door, Faidn nipped his father's heavy overcoat to use as a sling. He'd pay for it later in belt lashes, but he felt rash enough to take a poke at Hollen. 

Outside on the lonely road to town, it was still. The birds were silent, and it was going to rain. Usually on these occasions, Faidn went to his friend Carvin with his troubles. However, Carvin was ten days into his honeymoon, somewhere on the island Khyria with the Princess Nre.

_Figures my best friend would marry into royalty. Useless nobles._

* * *

**Final word count 778. **

**Tis woefully short, I know, but the next chapter is over twice it's size, so be consoled.**

**Oh, and in the last chapter, I forgot to mention _why_ there was a T rating. Some violence, and deaths. That's about it.**

**InChrist-Billios: Well, he is _your_ character, so of course he's amazing. But thanks for the compliments anyway. --offers float--  
**

**skyflyer81310: Hey! Thanks for the review! I'm glad I have someone in suspense. hands --Root Beer Float in fancy glass--  
**

**Cimh: --grins, and hands float-- There you are. No Dr. Pepper in there. I tend to be good at confusing people. Will have to be careful about that. Thank ye for reviewing!**

**FaylinnNorse: --beams-- I was really hoping someone would say all that. --extra scoop of ice cream in float--**

**Floober: Didn't mean to scare you, Floob. Glad you enjoyed it, and thanks for the review. --adds twisty straw to float--**

**Simba: Thank you. And I have. --tall glass of Root Beer Floatness--**

**Alrighty, thanks for the reviews, everyone. Smoothies for reviews on this chapter; mixed berry or mango and papaya.**

**  
**


	3. Drawn In

**Chapter three is here, right on time! I do not own Faidn, Hollen, or Eliza, but everything else is out of me own mind. So there you have it.**

* * *

_'Oddly enough my very since of helplessness saved me and steadied me. For now I was quite obviously "drawn in."'_

_—from_ The Space Trilogy_ by C.S. Lewis_

* * *

The O'Neil family lived deep in the woods. There were meadows for the horses, streams running off the mountain for water, berries for preserving, and all the game of the mountain for food and skins. What more could hunter and horseman want? 

On horseback, the trek to town might only be an hour or so, there and back. Eliza used to say: 'What good is keeping chickens in fox country? How will we help ourselves to cream with bears around?' and send Faidn to buy milk and eggs. Lest Faidn's horsemanship be doubted, have _you_ ever tried to trot a horse with a basket of eggs? So Faidn had walked this path often enough.

A few miles out from town were the Kerry Orchards. Old Man Kerry purchased them years before the town was settled, and people said his trees were older then the mountain itself. They were in autumn dress now; a myriad of gilded scarlet falling like flames when you walked beneath them. Then something caught Faidn's eye. Right against the road, so no traveler would miss it: a brightly covered wagon, hung with tassels and silver, and all kinds of gypsy baubles. _That's odd._ Thought Faidn, drawing closer, _Rollo's band usually clears out at the first sign of fall_.

The aforementioned band of gypsies had an agreement with Old Man Kerry that allowed them to live in the orchards during the mild Berensian summers. Whenever he could make it, Faidn would visit the rowdy bunch for a evening of festivities. Most gypsy bands weren't to be trusted, but Rollo and his people were more honest then most, and once befriended were loyal to the end; however close that end might be.

"Hello there!" Faidn cried, directing his attention to a petite gypsy with her back turned, "I thought you lot had cleared out weeks ago—Oh!"

The lady turned, unveiling a strange face.

"I'm sorry," Faidn attempted to amend, "I thought you were someone else. Rollo's folk stay here..."

"Yes, I know." The woman smiled, missing a few teeth, "We met them a few days ago. They lent us their wagon. See?"

Faidn nodded before remembering his manners and introducing himself.

"Faidn? From the mountain? Benedek sends his greetings." the woman said.

Faidn grinned. Next to Carvin, Ben was the best friend anyone could hope for.

"I'm Mara," She shook his hand, avoiding his eyes, "and likewise. Walk with me?"

Faidn fell in step, a little leery, but curious. Mara continued,

"You are an archer."

"Yes..." he answered, hesitant, "how did you know?"

"Your clothing gives you away. Your quiver strap has almost rubbed through your shirt."

"Fair enough." he shrugged, and they walked in silence for a ways, "So what is it you are wanting, Mara?"

"Excuse me?"

"You _are_ being awfully friendly."

Mara cackled into hysteria.

"You know gypsies."

"I know Benedek."

She giggled.

"You must come and see. I don't think you will be as much help to me as I was hoping. My adversary, Tzigana, has a girl—she bought her, I think. Tzigana says she is the greatest archer in the world. She would pay gold to any who could produce a better. But your arm..."

"I understand. Sorry to disappoint." he replied shortly.

_This is all rather odd_. Faidn thought, getting annoyed.

"There is a gypsy festival." the woman told him, "To see who can best who: archery, sword fighting, boxing, wrestling, even matching wits."

"I'm afraid I'm no good for that last one. Or even any of the others in my present condition. And I didn't come walking through here to earn you money, Mara. Good day."

He turned and stalked off, but the gypsy fluttered after him.

"Wait! Wait! Only gypsies can be awarded the prize, but I'll give you," she eyed him shrewdly for a moment, "ten percent."

He narrowed his eyes, but chuckled to himself. _Let's see what Da says when I bring in more gold then he could ever hope to. Even with a broken arm_. He ignored the the nagging voice inside that told him he would do better to pay his father an apology rather then money.

"Sixty."

The woman hissed air between her teeth.

"No more then twenty percent."

"Humph. And I'll go for no less then fifty percent. Who's doing the work anyway?"

Mara was seething, but Faidn knew this was a gypsy trick to make you think you had won.

"Thirty-fi—" she began, and Faidn cut in.

"Done at forty!" He shook her hand. "Where to?"

Mara grinned, showing him blackened teeth. He tried not to wince.

"Follow me."

* * *

_This is really very strange_. Thought Faidn, upon viewing the festivities that were taking place. In a small clearing in the center of the orchard, young men—still boys really, leaped about with swords, fists, axes, and pikes. The few with bows were aiming for targets tied to trees. Leaves flew every time an arrow thunked into the target. And none of these men were gypsies. 

"Over here," Mara motioned, leading him through the center of the flying weapons. Faidn ducked under a knife just in time. _I'm too tall for this_, he bemoaned.

"Ah Réz."

Mara stopped by a young archer, a girl, no more than ten. She had the thickest hair he had ever seen. It fell unbound past her waist in droves of shining red.

"Here is Master Faidn. He is an archer too."

Faidn started to smile, but the girl met his eyes, and he gulped. Never had he seen such a look of hopelessness and hatred wrapped together. It shook him.

"H-how old are you?" he stuttered.

"Eight." The girl replied, her voice perfectly empty.

"Come on!" Mara grasped his good arm and led him away as the girl turned and released a bullseye.

* * *

"This is Agmund. He is a fine swordsmen." Mara introduced him to a fair-haired man. 

The man grunted and gave a nod.

"Agmund, this is Faidn, an archer. His arm though..."

"Faidn O'Neil? Off the mountain?" Agmund asked, looking sharply at him.

"Ye-yes. What of it?" Faidn frowned. This whole situation was not looking safe.

Agmund gave a low whistle, looking Faidn over as if unbelieving. He shook his head and asked another question.

"What do you know of sword play?"

"Not much. My friend taught me some. He is excellent," replied Faidn

"I see. Where is your friend?" Agmund peeked curiously, almost greedily, over Faidn's shoulder as if expecting Carvin to be standing there.

"He's not here," Faidn said, giving the man a strange look, "he's on his honeymoon."

"Ah, best of wishes to him," Agmund offered, his physiognomy clamming up again.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two as Agmund reached into a pocket and wrestled out a dirty piece of paper. Faidn realized Mara had disappeared.

"If ye'll sign here," he offered Faidn a pen, "I'll let you have a go with one of my warriors here. No blood, were only playing points. If you win, ye'll have fifty in gold. Fair enough?"

Faidn shrugged. _What's to lose_? He took the quill and drew a small 'X' on the line without bothering to read what he signed. Agmund witnessed it for him.

"Over there." he motioned Faidn in the direction of a man passing out swords. Faidn walked slowly, suddenly realizing that he didn't know how to wield a sword right-handed. When the man gave him a heavy, rusted blade, Faidn gave a weak attempt at a stab and failed miserably. He was still wondering how he was going to pull this off when one of the few gypsies present leapt onto a stool waving a bottle around and began yelling:

"Drinks, everyone! Take a break from the games, and have a drink!"

"No, no!" Agmund shouted, as the small assembly rushed the makeshift bar, "We're almost out. Just take them, Imre!"

The gypsy shrugged, hopped down, and stalked right up to Faidn.

"What's going on?" Faidn started, feeling very uneasy.

With startling suddenness, Imre kicked his broken arm, and Faidn doubled over in pain. There was the crash of the bottle against the back of his head, and he remembered nothing more.

* * *

Jakob Cox was a business man. He always wore a suit, remained as clean as possible, tipped his hat to womankind, and cheated anyone he could. He was a short man with a shining white smile, and sported a pair of sizzling blue eyes. He took his time looking over the O'Neil grounds. The horses were certainly the most valuable possessions, but the barn was stocked with furs and a few long bows. They ought to fetch a good price. Not nearly five-thousand in gold, but Cox didn't really care. He took a moment to straighten his suit, and wipe perspiration from his face with a neat handkerchief, before knocking sharply on the door of the two-room cabin. 

"Come on in!" Liza called from the kitchen, where Faidn usually slept in the winter. Cox did so.

"Have you found anything, Hollen? He's never been gone this long. It's been three days, and—" she looked up from her anxious stirring and saw the stranger in her house. With a gasp she dropped the clay bowl and it rolled—cracked, underneath the table.

"Hello, Eliza. You're not looking well. Has Hollen been treating you right?"

"Get out of this house, Cox. Get out of my home!" Liza's voice shook a little.

"It won't be yours for long. But I have a proposition for you. Just say it! Tell me, and I'll let you, and even Hollen pass. Three little words, Lizzie."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jakob."

The man chuckled dryly.

"Don't you remember our courting days, dear?" he asked with a mocking smile.

"They were precisely one-sided, if I recall correctly," she returned.

"You never were an affectionate girl. You didn't seem to mirror my feelings for you."

"That's because I wasn't a malicious wish-I-was, so desperate to be a hero that I didn't mind becoming my own nemesis."

"She still has a tongue of fire," Jakob said aloud to himself with a smile, "But she'd better be willing to quench it with what I want to hear, or things could be painful." He reached into the fireplace and seized a smoldering stick, "You wouldn't want to be blistered by that searing mouth of yours, would you?"

Eliza snorted.

"Hardly the way to win my heart, Jakob."

As Jakob drew closer, her eyes widened at the thought that perhaps he wasn't bluffing. She used the pretext of feeling faint with fear to reach behind her for the counter.

"All right, Cox. You have me," she said, noting a blond head bobbing up the trail through the window.

Her searching hands grasped a pot off the counter and, leaping forward, bashed it over the man's head.

"No, no, and no! There are your three! Get out, you slimy excuse for a man!"

Cox dropped the twig and tried to dodge the furious blows, laughing. Finally, he grasped her wrist, and shoved her against the table.

"Your boy, should have been _my_ son."

Hollen entered, running from the commotion they had caused. Cox released Liza, who was shaken, but still fiery. She ran to Hollen's side, to hold him back.

"What is he doing in here? Let go of me Liza, I'll teach him how to treat my wife!"

"Hollen, please!" Liza pleaded.

"Oh yes, Hollen!" mimicked Cox, brushing himself off, "If you strangle him, we'll never find out where our beloved son is!"

Eliza dropped her hold, but Hollen didn't move.

"What did you say?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"You heard right. And since Eliza has lost her wits, I'll give you the choice, Hollen. Either Lizzie complies with my wishes, or the both of you go to jail, losing everything. Including your son."

The veins on Hollen's temple appeared ready to explode.

"He is no business of yours. Return my son."

"If I can't have Eliza, he shall perform just as well. He has half her blood."

"You know it doesn't work like that. Where is he?" Eliza stated, her green eyes vivid with fear, but her mouth firm.

"It might work if I told you I was going to slit his throat," remarked Jakob coyly.

"Your bluffs are too easy to call, Cox." Hollen claimed, his booming voice seemingly easy, but his knuckles white. Eliza paled under her freckles.

"I'm going to give you two days." Cox said, abruptly walking out the door. "You think it over. If you're compliant, then all's well. If not... I believe we've already discussed that. Goodbye!" He let the door slam behind him, but they could hear him call out:

"And don't try to run away. My fiari will be keeping an eye on you."

Eliza was trembling, and Hollen sank into a chair, his face looking haggard, and grey hairs beginning to show through his golden beard. For the first time in his life, he felt completely helpless.

Faidn awoke feeing rather helpless as well.

* * *

**Final word count: 2168, although it was more when I first checked. Oh well.**

**Eeko: Yes! Thanks for reviewing! As you can see, I have updated. --hands berry smoothie--**

drake jisken: Why thank you. I'm always up for compliments. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. --berry smoothie--

**InChrist-Billios: --grins-- Well thanks. I learn from the best! --berry smoothie with umbrella--**

**Floober: Do you have any idea how happy it is to have someone say they were totally into what you were writing? It's very happy. --mango and papaya with umbrella. Because _somebody_ has to have mango and papaya. Besides, tis my favorite--**

**FaylinnNorse: I'm glad you liked it. I had a lot of trouble writing that fight out, and I guess it worked! --mango and papaya, 'cause I bet you can handle it--**

**'Penname here': --berry float with...ah man, I can't think of anything else! You can have an umbrella, too-- I'll try to keep the horses going for you. Heard the plot from Billios? Tsk tsk tsk. Maybe I'll have to change everything around so you're surprised.**

**Okay, that's it for round three. Hope everyone enjoyed it. Is the very beginning too confusing? Any theories as to what Jakob Cox is up to? Or who the random red-headed kid is? Offer an opinion and get a...box. Of heart-shaped chocolate. On sale, since tis off season for chocolate hearts.**


	4. Shanghaied

**It's late, but still technically Monday. On time once again! as usual, Faidn, Hollen, and Eliza are not mine. But everything else is. Basically. Like, I don't own trees, obviously. Don't be silly.  
**

* * *

_There in the Sahara winds, Jesus heard the whole world cry,_

_For the healing that would flow from His own scars,_

_The world was singing:_

_"My Deliverer is coming. My Deliverer is standing by."_

_—from _My Deliverer_ by Rich Mullins  
_

* * *

Faidn's eyes snapped open, to see Benedek's dark, worried face hovering over his. 

"Hello there! Am I on the ground, or are you?"

"We were worried about you, Faidn. You slept longer than anyone else."

Faidn sat up experimentally.

"Ouch. Can you get this much of a headache from a bottle?" he asked, ruefully examining the back of his head with his fingers, then stopping suddenly. "That sounded kind of wrong. Scratch that from my record."

Benedek was amused, and his face appeared more solemn then ever, as was his way.

"It was probably the herbs they gave you while you were out, to keep you asleep longer. Some people are allergic to chupe."

Faidn peered around him in the darkness. He could tell they were in some sort of wagon, rolling along at a considerable speed. There were about twelve others cramped into the tiny carriage, most of them from Rollo's band, staring at him miserably. Faidn tried to ignore that, and asked Benedek what, exactly, was going on.

"As best we can figure," the boy recounted, "we're being smuggled through the borders to join the Philettin army."

"Shanghaied, eh?"

"Press-ganged."

"Duped and drafted."

"Pirated patriots."

"Stolen Soldie-"

One of the other prisoners cleared his throat impatiently.

"Anyway," Benedek continued in a quieter voice, "I suppose the King or General hired someone to bring in a few extra forces. And they were clever enough to use gypsies as a front. I mean, we must be in Liot by now. No one stops a gypsy train."

"Hold it. How long have I been unconscious?" Faidn asked, rubbing at his ankle which was manacled to the others.

"About three days."

Faidn took a deep breath of self pity.

"That explains why I'm so hungry."

"We managed to get some water down that big mouth of yours. You're alive at least," Benedek protested sourly.

"For a while." There was a pause; "I wonder if we can get ourselves out of this one?"

They were silent for a long time. The cart rattled on through the empty fields of Liot. Faidn sighed, and wondered how his mother was taking all this.

* * *

Eliza was not idle. She'd ripped off a piece of her already filthy skirt, and was laboriously scrubbing the walls in her cell. Jakob had changed his mind, and dragged them to jail before the promised two days were accomplished. He had said nothing of Faidn, and they had not seen Jakob since he turned the key in their cell doors, five days before. Hollen paced his cell like a caged bear. He and Eliza could not see each other, but if she stood on her toes, she could reach over the top of her wall in between the bars. Hollen stuck his hand through to encourage this action, and Eliza wrapped her fingers around his. There was silence; no dripping, no screams of other prisoners. Eliza shuffled her feet on the dry dirt floor, closed her eyes and dreamed of days gone by. 

_It was before the harvest. In the dog days of summer, there was a festival in the high meadows. Eliza's dress was coarse and well-worn; the country people were poor, but never had she looked lovelier. She danced under the big dipper with ribbons in her hair, and fiery lilies on her feet. _

Hollen thought of the strong pine forests he ran in as a boy. He inhaled deeply, trying to recall the clear scent of evergreen, and choked on dust.

"I'm sorry, Liza." he whispered needlessly, "I love you. I love Faidn too."

"I know, I know. I love you too, Hollen," she reminded.

"It's good of you to say that."

"You know I can't lie," she laughed quietly. In her mind she saw him smile. "Do you think he really has Faidn?"

"Probably. I doubt that Jakob's would bother to personally kidnap him, but I'd bet he's in on the scheme. I wonder how my son got mixed up with a man like that."

"He might not have had a choice," Liza muttered.

"He's no weakling," Hollen replied, suggesting he'd been physically attacked.

"Neither are you, my Hollen. And here we are."

He said nothing for a long time, and Eliza was afraid she'd offended him.

She heard him take a deep breath, and strengthened her grip on his hand.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, and tears sprang from her eyes. He'd not called her that since the eve of their wedding day.

"I've found a way out of my cell. I can't get you out."

"Morning stars, Hollen! Get out of here while you can! Go! Go bring back my son!" She laughed a little, "Do you know where we are?"

For one reason or another, Jakob had them thrown into a prison miles away from their home. It had taken them two long days in a prison cart to reach their destination. 'Does he fear someone will rescue us?' Eliza had wondered.

"Close enough. I'll come back for you." Hollen's voice was full of regret at leaving her behind.

"My deliverer," she smiled.

* * *

One of the gypsy horses stepped on a stake somewhere in the middle of Philettin. Most horses will do things like that when more is required of them then eating and sleeping. The prisoners were, of course, headed to the far-side of the country, and the consequence of the pony's selfishness is that Faidn and the others were forced to pull the wagon for two days until a replacement was found for the injured horse. 

It was exhausting work that almost killed a few of them. Philettin was dry, and still warm: although the winters were past humanity. The ragtag band was heading east, with the sun blazing in their eyes every morning. There were no trees in Philettin: at least, precious few.

The outdoor air, though not as bad as the over-used air trapped under the wagon cover, had an arid quality about it that tasted bad. The oftener you breathed, the more you choked, which presented a problem. When Agmund was passing out water rations, he caught Faidn swallowing over and over to rid himself of the feel of the atmosphere.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Besides, dry season is almost over." He motioned to dark clouds on the northern horizon.

"There's a drought every year?" asked Faidn incredulously.

"Like clockwork," came the answer.

The third day in Philettin they were re-chained inside the cart for a few hours while a fresh horse pulled the wagon the remaining miles to camp. A rough halt that sent them sprawling alerted Faidn and Benedek that they had arrived. After a great amount of bustle outside, the wagon cover was removed and the prisoners took in deep drafts of less-foul air.

Agmund produced a large key, unlocking the chains off their ankles. There were a fair number of 'guards' around, their hands on sword hilts ready to be drawn lest the latest recruits dared an escape. Faidn felt lightheaded, and swayed a little as he jumped from the wagon. The carts were parked on a rise; Faidn and the others were directed downhill to plethora of tents, hastily arranged. Agmund looked as tired as they did as he motioned them to their shelters. Several other carts and drivers were doing the same, the result being chaos. A man of apparent rank passed by them, and glanced at Faidn's arm.

"Bringing in used merchandise, eh Agmund?"

Faidn's face burned at the man's laughter.

"Give it a rest, Lorcan." Agmund snapped wearily.

"That'll be Brigadier Lorcan from here on out, Agmund. Continue."

Agmund shook his head as the Brigadier disappeared in the crowd.

"I don't envy you your authority, Youngster. You're just lucky the Brigadier is a cavalry man," he muttered as he gave Faidn a shove into a tent.

Inside were three flea-ridden cots. One was occupied by a ruddy-faced man, maybe five years older then Faidn. His black hair fell in stringy dreadlocks past his strong chin. Thick fumes from his hand-rolled cigar surrounded his ebullient eyes as if he were some ancient voodoo witch.

"Hie! What's here?" he asked, sitting up abruptly from his leisure.

"Faidn. This cot taken?"

"With as many vermin already living there, I'm sure one more soul can't hurt," Bright Eyes replied, staring with polite boldness. He nodded towards Faidn's arm, "Tussle with one of the guards on the trip over?"

"I'll let you think that," Faidn muttered, falling onto the cot which nearly collapsed under his weight. He grimaced as a horde of insects scattered from underneath him.

"Eh, ye'll get used to it," said Bright Eyes, shaking a cockroach out of his filthy hair. He glanced at it with wistfulness.

"After you're introduced to the food, you might find those guys friendly. Maybe even tasty."

"Certainly less painful," said a new voice.

Faidn turned to see a towheaded, blue-eyed youth of his own age standing in the entry. "I'm Thaddeus. Benedek wants you. He's in the next tent."

Faidn groaned and rose, not bothering to introduce himself. He'd never been so sore and tired in his life.

* * *

Benedek was hanging upside down by his knees from a tent pole. A little man, wider than he was tall, was screaming at him in some strange language. 

"Kona!" Thaddeus shouted, rolling his eyes, "Let him down!"

"What did you do, Ben? Whatever it is, give it back, or I'll tear the tent down and let him eat you," snarled Faidn.

Benedek chattered to himself in his own language, like a caught chipmunk.

"Fine," he spat, tossing down a rock. Kona snatched it up and ran to his bed.

Faidn raised an eyebrow.

"You can tell me later," he said, holding up a hand to Thaddeus who had begun to explain. "I'm going to bed."

He ignored Bright Eyes' sardonic chuckle as he slapped back onto his cot, allowing himself to stretch out as far as he could; something the wagon had no room for.

He sighed, somewhat content, and a bugle sounded.

"That means come to attention," Bright Eyes smirked, rising.

"I'm gonna quit the army," Faidn stated, rolling to the floor.

* * *

"Soldiers! You have signed yourselves into service with the Philettin army." 

Here Sergeant Crest produced a stack of papers. The same the group had signed to 'accept a sword fighting challenge'. A collective groan ran through the regiment that had been tricked.

"Attention! Silence in the ranks! You will obey our every order, right down to how many times you chew your food, if need be. For twelve weeks, you will be in training. Use that time to learn well: afterwards you will be sent to the lines. Serve to our satisfaction and your valor and loyalty will be rewarded. After the war has been won, you will receive your salary, and be freed from service. Anyone who attempts to desert will be executed."

"If they're caught," Bright Eyes muttered, standing next to Faidn.

"What was that, Spencer?" the pacing Sergeant bellowed.

"Eh? Just that your warning is for naught. I don't see any man present who isn't overjoyed to be here," Spencer smiled.

"Are you being smart with me?" the Sergeant's face was turning a pretty shade of purple.

"Wouldn't you be the best judge of that, Serge?"

"Sergeant, or sir," Crest's eyes started to pop out of his face.

"Thank you. 'Sir', if you please. You're dismissed." Faidn couldn't help snickering with the rest of the bunch at Spencer's costly antics.

"Spencer, come with me. The rest of you are going without meals tomorrow."

There was a collective cheer, and the Sergeant nearly choked on his swelling veins. It wasn't really the effect he was going for. Upon dealing three malicious lashes to Spencer's back however, he felt better.

* * *

After they were dismissed, Faidn helped Spencer stagger back to their bunks. 

"You know what this means," Spencer snapped, flicking some wriggling unknown object out of his bloodied hair, "this means war."

Faidn shook his head, half laughing, half scared.

"I coulda told you that one, Spence."

* * *

**Final word count: 2008 **

**There you have it. Tell me, did you think it was to much to introduce so many new characters at once? Howabowt them? Did you like Benedek? Spencer? Kona? Thaddeus? What about the Eliza/Hollen scene? Any suggestions, comments, criticisms? I'll stop berating you with annoying questions as soon as you review!**

**InChrist-Billios: --hands chocolates-- Well thankee. Grr... don't remember what the guy from Tuck Everlasting looks like, but I'll take your word for it. I'm glad Hollen's not coming across as too evil He really is a decent guy. After the first two chapters.**

**Eeko: --chocolate to you-- I always have a rather deplorable enjoyment while knocking characters on the noggin. **

**Floober: Yayness! I'm so glad you liked it... but don't get into trouble for goodness sakes! I do enough of that whilst I'm typing it up! --box of chocolates--**

**SIMBA: Thanks for hopping on board. Hope that answered one of your questions! The other answer should be coming soon. Stay tuned! --chocolate in a box!--**

**FaylinnNorse: Dingdingding! Ten points to Faylinn! The girl from Billi's odds and endings it was! Pay attention for other crossovers, which should come around eventually. I'm glad Faidn has a sympathetic audience. Thank Billios for letting me beat her poor characters up! Although, if I didn't, I bet you she would. --box of chocolate with fancy bonus ribbon--**

**Okay, um... a specialty spork for any reviewers! (Complete with salad, soup and London Broil, of course!)  
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	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize I've been gone so long. There are no excuses.**

**But I'm back! So here's the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hollen, Eliza, or Faidn. **

* * *

_ Turn again, thou fair Eliza!  
Ae kind blink before we part;  
Rue on thy despairing lover,  
Can'st thou break his faithfu' heart?  
Turn again, thou fair Eliza!  
If to love thy heart denies,  
Oh, in pity hide the sentence  
Under friendship's kind disguise! _

—Thou Fair Eliza, by Robert Burns**  
**

* * *

Hollen paused outside the jail. It was located in a forest glen. A little brook was tripping away to his left. A young doe lifted her head and gazed on him with soft eyes, water dripping off her mouth.

"This is no ordinary prison," Hollen murmured to her, "in the wilderness, where the deer are unafraid."

The animal returned to her drink. As of yet, Hollen had not seen his detention—it had been a moonless night when the couple was escorted to it. It was just before dawn now, and Hollen began to see that they had been locked in a sort of reformed stable. It was built of white-washed stone. The stall he had escaped from was an addition made of wood—it had begun to rot.

The grounds on which the stable rested were very prettily kept. Pathways of crushed white seashells led to a small rose garden, the stream watering it as it ran past. Thoughtfully, Hollen pulled a rose free from its leafy hedge and (discerning which cell was Eliza's) was able to press it through a mouse hole. He heard footsteps coming around the corner of the building, and in that instant, the sun leapt into morning, leaving him no shadows to duck into. With swift resolve he bounded into the forest with the silence only a mountain man can posses. Hollen looked back once. He saw the maker of the footsteps dressed in servant's clothing, carrying his and Eliza's breakfast. But his eyes did not rest on the man for long. Behind him, behind the white stable, rose a mighty structure, a castle: far taller than any Berensian palace. Its spires and battlements struck like lightning across the sky. Pennant-less, and decorated with green boughs, the castle tops would appear to be a continuation of the forest from a distance. Turning away from the wondrous scene, the thought of confiscating a horse crossed Hollen's mind. But the risk of being caught was too great, and four-legged beasts were much too easily tracked. Having no idea where he was, Hollen chose to follow the stream. If you follow any source of water for long, you're bound to come across a town sooner or later. And these towns generally have people in them who know in what country they reside.

A few minutes into the woods, Hollen came upon a gazebo where Jacob Cox and another man—a very lean and pointed man with hollow eyes and long grey hair—were talking. He crept as close as he dared.

"They had him for certain."

"Yes milord," replied the grey man, with melancholy sharpness. He had a curious accent, as if his lips caught on his teeth as he spoke, "though I could not tell you which battalion he is in. Or even if he has left his training camp."

"It would be doubtful if he had. I expected better from you, though. How hard is it to nab an injured boy? Still, so long as he is within my grasp, all is well. Those two," Cox motioned towards the stable, just faintly visible as a glare though the trees, "are giving me a more trying time then I anticipated." He rubbed his temple as if massaging a headache. "Why must things be so difficult, Malcolm?"

Malcolm leaned forward with imperceptible slowness.

"You could, kill _him,_" he whispered, jerking his grotesque neck to where he believed Hollen was.

"But what if that wench proves to be more cold-blooded than she is now? We'd have lost all leverage! Well not all, I suppose. We have the boy."

Malcolm leaned back with a shrugging motion, then stiffened.

"Master," he whispered from his throat, cold grey eyes half-lidded, "I hear a man breathing."

"So? Hand me my sword."

Hollen departed swiftly while the rhododendron he had been hiding behind was hacked to pieces.

He had skills enough to leave no trail, so that when Malcolm (who was like a bloodhound) was set on him, Hollen could not be found.

* * *

When Carvin and Faidn were little they used to play a game together. It was sort of like tag, and something like run-the-gauntlet. It had an object that was hurled around at high speeds into each other's heads. Faidn chuckled. The first time he had come home with a black eye, his mom about lashed him to pieces for fighting. He never told them it came from playing a game with the duke's son. He wasn't sure how his parents would take it. Turns out the same thing happened to Carvin three weeks later.

That game was very similar to what Kona was trying to show him now.

"Then this you take; yes, that way. Throw!" Faidn hurled Kona's good-luck rock towards Benedek, who caught it, shaking his hand at the sting.

Spencer had hauled his cot outside and watched their antics from his reclined position. His cigar twitched with amusement.

"Now throw back, Ben. No stealing this time, or bad luck fall on _you_!"

Benedek rolled his eyes like one who has been wrongly accused but is too good natured to say anything about it. Testing the weight of the object with a steady hand, the wiry boy pegged it towards Faidn, who ducked just in time. The rock went sailing past where his head would have been and crashed into the Sergeant's tent, knocking the center pole (and consequently the whole tent) askew. Spencer burst into outrageously contagious laughter as the three boys bolted.

When the Sergeant began yelling and cussing for someone to help him out of the tangled mess, Spencer stood, stretched leisurely and walked back to his tent, casually dragging his cot behind him. Faidn was already inside, sleeping convincingly. Spencer grinned without using his mouth.

"I see you have practice in the art of dodging consequences."

A believable snore was his answer.

He shrugged and began setting up his cot. Kona stumped in angrily, Benedek following with a cautious curiosity.

"You missed it! You go get it!"

"Those are the rules," Benedek added cheekily. "You'd better go save The Good Luck Rock from the Sergeant, and so save us from the Sergeant before he gets ahold of The Good Luck Rock!"

"What?" came the very alert reply, as Faidn propped himself up on his good arm. "You threw it wrong!"

"You didn't catch it."

"I couldn't catch it with my face!"

"Your face will catch something in a minute if—"

"Now boys," interrupted Spencer, adjusting his muscular frame onto the tiny cot, "let's not argue. The Warthog's getting angry."

Kona bristled.

"Benedek, you get the rock." A hand was raised to stop the stream of excuses. "Faidn, take this bucket—careful, it's full. You can cool the Sergeant's tongue with a little ice water. Well, more ice than water at this point, but I think he'll appreciate the gesture."

There was no going back. Faidn accepted the burden with a nervous swallow.

Outside, a discreet crowd had already gathered and were chuckling amongst themselves at the Sergeant's predicament. His head and arms were completely swathed in the tent's folds, and so was The Good Luck Rock. Benedek tiptoed onto the ruins and picked around delicately for a few minutes, dodging the struggling limbs. There was one terrifying moment when Faidn thought that Benedek had uncovered the Sergeant's face—but he was screaming so loudly that he probably wouldn't have even noticed. Anyway, the deed was done and The Good Luck Rock was passed triumphantly to Kona, who had followed them out. Now it was Faidn's turn. With meticulous care to avoid the flailing arms, he positioned himself directly over his target. He tipped the end of the bucket up and deliberately emptied the contents onto Sergeant Crest's head. The roar of mirth from the assemblage covered the sound of their hasty retreat, but not even Faidn's own laughter could drown the noise of the Sergeant's animated string of words that leapt ahead to burn his ears like fire.

Benedek beat Faidn back to the tent, and Kona was right behind them. Spencer hadn't moved but was laughing with ridiculous fortissimo as if he had been an eyewitness to the event.

"Well done! Well done! We'll make regular army out of you yet. But Hie! What's that?"

Outside, there was the sound of merriment being replaced by rushed work and the creaking of wheels.

"Ah, the new recruits," Spencer announced, springing vivaciously from his cot.

The blond boy who shared a tent with Benedek and Kona came rushing in. _Thaddeus_, remembered Faidn.

"This is the largest group they've brought in yet! There must be two-_hundred_ of them out there!" he said with great emphasis. The others barely had time to respond before a sickly-looking boy stepped into their tent, his watery eyes frightened.

"Welcome to The Palace!" Spencer took the initiative and motioned around the tent as an introduction. "What's yer name?"

The boy gave him a strange look.

"Phillipe."

"Well I hope you enjoy your stay here, Phil. There's your down-mattress over there in the corner."

"My name isn't Phil. And that's not a mattress, it's a cot. Ugh! Are there bugs on it?" Spencer and Faidn shared a smile.

"No, those are just animated grains of rice."

"Try to ignore it when they bite you."

Phillipe gave them a sore look. Spencer attempted to regain popularity.

"I'm Spencer, your official camp guide. If you need anything, just let me know!"

"Well, where are the outhouses? And could I have a morsel to eat?" he pleaded pitifully.

"You see that tent?" Phillipe nodded as Spencer pointed. "You can relieve yourself in there. There's also a servant inside who'll bring you some food."

"Whoa there, Phillipe!" Thaddeus intervened, glaring at Spencer. "Around here, you eat when they feed you, and you don't pee in the Corporal's tent. Those're two of the most important rules around here. Only slightly more crucial is 'never listen to anything Spencer tells you, ever'."

Phillipe's face turned a sort of stormy gray.

"You...fiend!" he declared passionately.

Spencer smiled infuriatingly, and lay back on his cot. For a while, the only sound was the yelling of the Sergeant and Phillipe choking on cigar smoke. The new boy peeked outside.

"What is he doing?"

"Drowning," Faidn offered.

"Do you think we should tar and feather him?"

"Would flour do?"

"I'll get it!" volunteered Benedek.

"Wait," began Phillipe in a high voice, "Is that the Sergeant? Is he in charge?"

"Yes, and no."

"On my honor!" Phillipe shrieked. Faidn raised an eyebrow at him. "I can't let you do this thing to the Sergeant. You'd better drop this, or I'llhave to inform--"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Spencer snapped, looking alarmed. "Or I'll build you an outhouse, and drown your head in it."

"But I might die!" Phillipe wailed in shock.

"If you didn't, I'd kill you. So not a word."

Eventually those who delivered the 'recruits' helped the Sergeant out of his plight. Assuming, of course, that Spencer was in on the crimes, Sergeant Crest marched straight to his tent, hair still dripping and uniform awry. He was pleasantly surprised to find exactly three extra boys inside. An obvious plotting party.

"_You_! How dare you!" A finger was extended towards the accused.

"How dare I what, Fusspot?"

The Sergeant sputtered.

"Come on, Teakettle, spit it out. You're wasting my valuable army-alloted time."

"I gave. Direct orders. For anyone nearby, to remove that tent!"

"Tent? What tent?"

Poor Sergeant Crest was not suited to deal with such as Spencer.

"The tent that fell on me!"

"A tent fell on you? Haha! What did you do to it, Serge?"

"Nothing! Someone knocked it down. Are you telling me that you didn't hear that commotion?"

"Commotion? There was a commotion? Did any of you boys hear a commotion?"

Spencer's eyes moved meticulously around the room with the look of a schoolmaster expecting to catch a student's guilty gaze. Never was there a more innocent group of boys, excepting Phillipe who was elbowed into submission.

"I'm sorry Serge, the boys and I didn't know a thing about it."

"I'll believe that when pigs fly! And what's more, I'm offering three gold coins to whoever will tell me _who_ dumped water on my head!"

He left, yelling his offer to the whole camp, simultaneously screaming orders for his tent to be repaired.

Spencer roared with laughter and not even Phillipe could avoid chuckling—though he did not want to— along with the tremendous hilarity.

* * *

"We caught him, Lizzie," Cox was saying. "Malcolm saw him slipping out of his cell and shot him as he ran for the woods." A bloody arrow was produced. "He's dying. I might be inclined to save his miserable life if you are compliant for once."

"You're lying," said Eliza without quavering.

"What makes you sure?" Jakob asked with a hideous grin. Eliza held aloft a bright pink rose. "He wasn't running _that_ fast." Jakob struck the rose out of her hand with a hiss. The thorns left specks of blood on his fingertips.

"Tharia!" he yelled, his face growing red with angry passion. A woman appeared, fair-skinned and voluptuous. Eliza suddenly felt distinctly aware of her own shameful freckles.

"Tharia. Find out where Hollen is. And don't come back until you know." The lady nodded with a sly smile and vanished. Eliza consoled herself with the knowledge that the woman was a fiari and (in her true state) probably resembled a toad with wings.

"When I catch him, I will have him killed. You can stop my search at anytime."

Eliza said nothing but lifted the crushed rose from the dirt, twirling it in her fingers and smiling as one who knows a secret. Cox watched her face discreetly. Suddenly he realized the smugness on her smile.

"What did you tell him?" he demanded, "What did you tell him to do? Curse you, Lizzie this doesn't have to be so hard! I used to be a brother to you! Why can't you give me the chance to be who I was meant to? I could stop wars! Bring peace! Save lives!"

"For your own glory? You are too dangerous, Jakob. I can't trust you."

"I have never hurt you."

"That's debatable." She played with the rose in her hands.

Jakob once again fixed his frustration on it.

"Here. Since you're so intrigued by that flower, let it mark your dilemma. When the last petal falls from it, I shall marry you."

"I'm fairly certain that it's not legal to marry a girl against her wishes in Berensia. Especially one that's already taken."

"We're not in Berensia. You're at my castle in Molln. I own the land and all the people for miles around. Including the local parish." He paused to let the information

sink in.

"This is beginning to sound like a fairy tale." said Eliza, pursing her lips.

"I wonder which one of us men is the beast?" Jakob muttered, leaving.

* * *

**Word Count: 2517 **

**FaylinnNorse: I know who Jack O'Neill is! --feels flattered to have a character compared to such a... character-- And I'm glad you like Spencer. That was most certainly my intention in writing him. So glad you enjoyed it! --is happy--**

**InChrist-Billios: --big smile-- Thank you Billi. I feel kind of guilty to be getting so much praise and then not posting for half a year. Oh well, I'll take it.**

**ElvishKiwi: That's the nearest to a back-handed compliment I've had yet, and I think it's my favorite. Well, here I am again, and I don't think I'm going anywhere this time. I hope this chapter cleared up some confusion.**

**SIMBA: Edge of your seat? Awesome! And I'm glad Hollen's not coming across horribly. And Rich Mullins totally rocks. Definitely.**

**orangehotchocolate: Wow, thanks for reviewing! Another point for Spencer! Dun dun!**

**Alright guys, I decided not to hand out the dinners, because the five month old london broil looked horrible. But a slice of chocolate chocolate cake is on the menu with a cherry on top if you help me with this dilemma: I REALLY don't want Malcolm's name to be Malcolm. So, he's kinda creepy and kind of mysterious. If you think of a good name, POST IT IN YOUR REVIEW!**

**Awesome.**

**Lobuck, over and out.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Righto, so Faidn, Eliza, Hollen, and Duke Tiroe are not mine. Neither are any of the countries mentioned. But you probably know all that by now.**

**That's about it. Charge!**

* * *

_"Let us take the quickest way," said the eldest brother._

_"That would not be wise," protested Georyn. "That way leads directly into the Enchanted Forest."_

_His brothers laughed, saying, "What, do you believe such foolishness? Do you fear that we will be bewitched?"_

_"Not all tales of enchantment are foolish ones," replied Georyn. "There will be a time when we must challenge that which lies within the Forest, but to do so now, unnecessarily, would be no better than folly. We have no knowledge of what we face."_

—_from _Enchantress From the Stars_, by Sylvia Louise Engdahl_

* * *

Faidn stumbled wearily back to his tent. When his father lost his wits with drink, he would sometimes get a whipping. With a belt, or a switch. It was never very terrible, and the pain of being beaten by his Da always outweighed the beating itself. So when he found out he had an appointment with the Sergeant's whip, he wasn't too worried. Then he was taught the difference between a lashing and a flogging, and knew better. He collapsed onto his cot, face down and lay there for half of an hour or so before he was disturbed.

"Hie! Looks like you've been having fun." The voice was both sympathetic and mocking.

"Somebody ratted me out, Spence."

"I never would have guessed, Gimpy." And then his voice lowered, and softened, and grew serious, "I did."

"You did what?" Faidn asked from the depths of his pillow.

"Spilled the goods. Sold the story. I told on you. Actually, I made Benedek do it. The Sergeant wouldn't have believed me."

"Very funny, Spencer."

"I'm not laughing."

Faidn rose slowly to his knees.

"Somebody would have finked on you sooner or later. At least this way _you _get the reward." He tossed three golden coins onto the cot. Faidn stared at them with glazed eyes. Just then, Benedek chose to make an untimely entrance. When he saw Faidn's bare back he froze, and dropped his gaze.

"What'sa matter Ben?" slurred Faidn through the pain, "Did you want a tip?"

"Don't take it out on him! I made him do it; he didn't want to."

"Just like you made me dump a pail of water on the Sergeant's head. Is this a game to you? Cat and mouse? Let me guess, we're the mice, and Serge is the cat. You're the little boy who throws us all in a cage and laughs when we come out all shredded up?"

"There's a group a few tents down," began Benedek in a small voice, "who said they were going to blackmail you. They said some horrible things..."

"It wasn't pretty. Anyway, better to have it over with. Not everyone's as kindly as me, my young friend."

"I would have turned myself in before I let myself be manipulated."

"That so?" Spencer asked sharply, continuing only when Faidn could no longer hold his stare. "Then just consider it a favor to have saved you the trouble. Tough love, or a severe mercy, if you will."

First Faidn watched Benedek's guilty face, then Spencer's stern one, and back again; looking for a reason that would make sense. But there wasn't any. The situation pressed down on him with such cruel humanity that he wanted to sob or scream, but he wasn't sure if he could do either. So he laughed—like Spencer had before, long and loud, and full of rancor.

"Come on Ben," Spencer ushered him outside, "get some sleep Faidn. It helps."

In the middle of the night, someone laid a soothing poultice on his back. The next morning he felt decent (considering all things), but Spencer was flogged for stealing medicines from the sergeant's tent.

* * *

Hollen made his way back into Berensia after finding a town full of pleasant people who told him where he was. If he had taken the road, he might have saved himself two or three days of walking, but Hollen was determined not to be caught. Skipping over his own home and lands completely, he headed to the Tiroe estate. He knew Faidn often went there after an argument, and was hopeful that perhaps he hadn't been kidnapped after all and was instead skulking about the Tiroe's mansion. If not, perhaps the Duke had seen him last and could yield the freshest clues as to where his son really was. It did not sound as if Jakob Cox had him. 

Walking out of the forest onto the Tiroe's grounds, Hollen spotted a girl gardening and hailed her. She screamed, dropped her spade and ran for the house. Hollen blinked, then chuckled a little when he realized how filthy he must be. He reached up into his tangled hair and tugged a branch free. A man came out of the doorway the girl had run through.

"What is it, Catty?" he stopped short when he spotted Hollen, "Oh, my. Just a wild man, Catty dear. Sure it's nothing to worry about. Can I help you, my good man?"

"I'm here to see the Duke," said Hollen, coming closer.

"You'd better get cleaned up first. Come with me, sir." He led Hollen inside. "May I inquire your name?"

"Hollen O'Neil, Faidn's father."

The man grinned.

"What's the bugger up to? It's been lonesome around here without the young master, and we've (that is the staff, and the Duke Tiroe as well, I'm sure) grown accustomed to having the lively Faidn to cheer things up. Where's he been?

"I was hoping," replied Hollen, splashing water on his face, "someone could tell me that."

The man started visibly.

"You mean he's gone missing?"

Hollen gave the man a wry smile.

"Am I tolerable?" he motioned with a towel.

"Much better sir," replied the butler, hastily jerking into action. "I shall take you to my master at once."

Hollen was led to wait outside a pair of large ornate doors. He heard himself announced, followed by a few moments of low murmurings before he was admitted.

"Mr. O'Neil; come in. Have a seat," came the kindly voice of the duke from inside.

Hollen entered and sat in a large plush chair—the color of the forest, but a good deal more comfortable—across from Duke Tiroe.

"I understand your son is missing, I'm terribly sorry to hear this. Understand that I think of him as a second son, and will do all in my power to help you recover him. I owe you—and Faidn, this much, ever since he proved himself quite the hero in helping to bring back my own Carvin, Prince Carvin now, as I'm sure you know. Curious that such a terrible thing should befall both of our offspring. Do you have any idea where he's run off to?"

"No," Hollen began.

"That's alright, that's alright, we'll find him anyway. Kendall!" the Duke bellowed, imitating an elephant in all its regimental glory, "send Hammond to search the palace road, he might have headed there. What's that? For Faidn of course! He's run off on some new adventure and his father is trying to find him. I say, Hollen, he wasn't after a girl now, was he? Like my boy?"

"Um, no."

"We'll see, Mr. O'Neil, we shall see," said Tiroe with a deep-chested chuckle. "You never can tell. I was quite the ladykiller myself, at his age. Kendall, better have someone check the local towns too. Oh I don't know, get Jeffers and Horatt to do it. And then have Shyraz and Merlot brought around. No, no, Kendall, not the wines, the horses. (We do give our steeds exquisite names around here, Hollen). How ridiculous do you think I am? Drinking merrily when there is a serious task at hand? Hollen and I shall take the horses through the farm country, and then we'll head north to the nearby woodlands. We're sure to find the little scamp sooner or later. Who knows? Maybe we'll join in his mysterious quest." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, no, I forgot. There's the Missus to consider. I'm not used to worrying about the domestic opinion anymore. No, no, don't pity me. She's better off then I am, and that's saying something."

The Duke hesitated just a moment; whether in memory of his late wife, or to draw breath, Hollen didn't know, but he leapt upon the silence as a drowning man leaps for air.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it won't help. And my wife is—"

"Nonsense! Don't be so pessimistic, Hollen. Kendall, you go deliver a message to Mrs. O'Neil to let her know what's being done and set her mind at ease."

"Sir, she won't be there."

"What, is she out looking too? Ah, what a noble spirited woman! What a catch you must have made, Hollen!"

"And I'd better catch it again, or someone else will!" The woodsman practically shouted.

"For the love of brandy, Mr. O'Neil, what can you mean?"

"I mean," said Hollen, with exasperated patience, "that you're doing me no good at all. Faidn didn't run away, he was kidnapped. Possibly by the same man who took me and my wife to Molln where we were locked in a stable for a week. Eliza is still there, and I've got no idea where my son is, except that maybe, he's in a sort of training camp. For war."

"Why didn't you say so at once, man? This is horrible news! Kendall, arrange a party to arrest the man who has taken Mrs. O'Neil at once, send another to bargain with Philletin for Faidn's release."

"_Philletin_? What would my son be doing in _Philletin_?"

"Training for war, of course, Hollen, you said so yourself. When you are involved in matters of state (as I am), you will learn to be aware of which countries are battling out their individual differences. Philletin and Rijhad declared war against each other four months ago. And I've heard rumors Terriot will be creating an alliance with Rijhad within the next twelve months. Apparently Philletin has heard that as well, and are press-ganging some extra troops. I knew they were shanghaiing as far out as Acine, but I had no idea... If Faidn's in a camp training to go to war, and he didn't leave of his own free will, where else could he be? Yes, Kendall, have you sent out the new orders? Excellent. I—"

"Will you hold on a minute?" Hollen snapped with an understandable lack of patience. "Can we make a plan before you send your men to stomp all over things without knowing what's going on? You don't even know where Eliza is."

"Why of course, Hollen. Best way to do things; know what you're up against before marching off into the unknown. You're perfectly right. I suppose I was getting a bit ahead of myself. Tell me what you know so we might make adequate plans." One could see by the fall of his face that Hollen had hurt the Duke's feelings, but he covered it well, and soon perked up again.

"Alright. The man who has Eliza is called Jakob Cox. As far as I could figure, he _tried _to have Faidn kidnapped but someone else got him first. That makes sense, now that I know about Philletin. It's strange though. A very odd coincidence." The lines in his forehead deepened and he sank into his beard to think.

"Very odd indeed. Perhaps this Cox is one of the Philletins who are—"

"No, he's not a Philletin. He's from Molln, same as Liza. They used to be friends when they were kids. He was trying to woo her when I swept in. He seemed a decent fellow." Hollen shrugged. "He was good natured about it, though. Sold us our land and the house, inherited it from an old aunt or something. Then all of the sudden he shows up twenty years later saying we never paid him, and charging enough interest to clean out the royal treasury. Of course we couldn't pay it so he carts us off to his place in Molln and locks us in a stable."

"Well it's obvious we must rescue Eliza first. Poor damsel in distress. I'll have a warrant for the arrest of Jakob Cox signed by the king. This could take a few weeks, Hollen. Do you think she'll be alright for that long?"

Hollen shrugged and shook his head.

"Jakob is an honorable man. That'll give us enough time make a plan. That warrant might keep the government of Molln from interfering, but I don't think this character will go down without a fight. He's living in his own fortress. It'll be next to impossible to get Eliza out without a full-fledged army."

"Well, I'll see what we can do about that, too. We'll figure something out. Keep your spirits up, Hollen, old fellow. Mr. Cox and the whole country of Philletin don't stand a chance against our ingenuity!" Tiroe's tone was light, but a very serious concern was forming on his features as he gave the woodsmen a sympathetic slap on the shoulder.

Hollen gave him a grey smile.

* * *

"You know," said Faidn, pegging Kona with a pebble as he ran by on some errand of mischief, "I still haven't heard the story of how you got nabbed, Benedek. Make it good."

"Well. We had just started on the road to Molln. We left later than usual this year; I don't really know why. There was a gypsy wagon with a broken axle along the side of the street with probably ten people in it. All women and children. So even though gypsy tribes usually avoid each other like the plague, Rollo gives the order to stop and lend a hand. All us men pile out and get down on our knees to get a look at the axle. Well, it seems we can fix it, so we get the supplies needed and start working. As we get near to the end of the work, the men of that wagon start trickling back with tools. Of course, we'd already done it for them, and their leader starts thanking Rollo and giving small talk."

"And you're picking pockets, right?"

"Of course not!" Benedek snorted in indignation, "I only steal from honest men."

"Like Rollo himself, huh?"

"Nobody steals from Rollo. Or around him. He gave the worst tongue lashings, if he caught you."

"I'd like to see that."

"Anyway. They pulled out some barrels of beer and started passing it around. It was drugged, of course. Rollo didn't drink any. They waited 'till we were all off guard, then the leader of his band picks up a stone about the size of Kona's stupid rock and bashes Rollo in the head. They jumped us, and we were too dazed to protest. I remember hearing someone say to 'leave the old one'. So the last I saw of Rollo, he was lying in the middle of a dusty road, trying to struggle to his feet with dark blood oozing through what was left of his hair."

There was a pause. Benedek strolled with his arms in his pockets and a sort of sad grin on his face. Faidn thought of the kind old man with weak eyes and a strong smile.

"I didn't want to hear the true story, curse you."

Benedek shrugged and kicked a stone. It rolled down a ditch and plunked with regrettable resolve into a freezing puddle of filth.

"The true story wanted to be heard."

* * *

Eliza knelt on the stone floor and rubbed her arms fiercely. The nights were beginning to be bitterly cold. She studied the pink rose in the last of the golden light. It was shriveled pale, shuddering in the thin breeze. The woman sheltered it with a cupped hand. Six petals had already fallen. A mouse ran against the corner of the wall and stopped, sniffing the air with a frightened nose. She smiled at it. Footsteps echoing through the center of the stable sent it running again with a frightened squeak. Eliza used the peephole some thoroughbred once had, and saw a man of middling height walking toward her stall with swift purpose. A cold wind rushed in with him. She shivered.

"Hello, my dear. I trust you are well."

Eliza said nothing, but took one step backward. The man looked like death and smelled worse.

"I've orders to make you comfortable inside the castle. You will come with me, I am sure."

"I'm quite comfortable here. A few blankets and some straw to sleep on would suit me."

The man smiled solemnly. He had horrid teeth—not crooked: disproportionate. They snagged his lip when he spoke.

"You will come."

Eliza shrugged, lifted her brown skirts with the practicality of a housewife and followed him over the filthy threshold.

"You are enjoying your stay."

"No. I'm not."

"Yes."

Eliza said nothing. She was more than a little disturbed. There was a long pause.

"You are enjoying your stay."

She lifted an eyebrow. There was an electrical feel to the air, like a storm about to break. Tilting her sharp chin upwards, Eliza noted the sky was most decidedly clear.

"Are you trying to cast a spell on me? You're using magic!"

The charge in the atmosphere dissipated.

"You are familiar with it."

"Once. And I did not enjoy the experience then."

The man halted and stared at her with half-dead eyes. She trembled. There was a sort of predatory sneer in those eyes: like a prehistoric man who hasn't learned to count anything but kills.

"You were sixteen. Given a fairy gift."

"Jakob has been talking."

The grey man shrugged keenly and continued walking.

"Have you been sent to persuade me?" Eliza glanced towards the woods. The gloaming yielded little perception to a way of escape.

"It makes no difference to me if you are not swayed."

"It makes no difference to me if you are disloyal to your master, but I would ask why." Eliza tried a second look to the forest, but the grey man caught her straying gaze with a gleefully depressed expression.

"I am not interested in you or your fate. I have some dealings with the disappearance of your son, but if you receive him back unharmed, I would wish joy to you— for however short a time you might keep it."

The unusual accent and strange words were nearly lost on Eliza, as she began to run for the trees. It took just a few moments of heart-pounding, hardly-hoping madness across the garden before she realized she had no chance. Malcolm caught her arm just as she acquired a stitch in her side. On the brisk walk back to the castle, his flesh burned into hers. She tried with great (but failing) courtesy to avoid any attempt at wrenching her arm away. The grey man opened the door with one hand, flung her inside a cozy room with the other, locked the door, and clipped away without another word or change of expression. Three more petals had fallen from her rose.

* * *

"I've called you here today," Spencer announced, pacing the length of his tent with a half-mangled cigar drooping out of his mouth, "to form the Royal Court. In the light of recent events, I feel we have the right to proclaim our own hierarchal order. I'll be the king."

Spencer was laughed out of Office.

"Well then, let's at least introduce ourselves," he suggested moodily. "I'll start you off with my dear angel-faced friend, Thaddeus. State your age and where yer from, Angel."

Thaddeus rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"I'm twenty-one. From Werinith. I was selling Philletin's national secrets when they nabbed me."

The group chuckled.

"I'm Faidn, eighteen, and from Berensia. I was riding into battle with the Rijhadites, and I met Brigadier Lorcan. Punched his nose so hard, I broke my arm."

Loud guffaws from everyone, except Spencer whose dark eyes lit up like a flame.

"I'm Phillipe. Faidn and Spencer's tent mate. I'm seventeen, and very unhappy about this entire situation, I was at my house in Molln when a gypsy cart drove down the lane. I went out to--"

"Enough of the sob story." Spencer rolled his eyes. "How about you, Kona?"

"But they just took me! Gave me something to drink, I didn't like it at all--"

"Shut up, Phillipe!" cried their exasperated leader.

"I Kona. Very much older than you," he lied, "I from Acine. I cracked Philletin King's head with my good luck rock."

Benedek sniggered.

"I am Ben. No country, I'm a gypsy. Seventeen years old."

"Kill it!" Phillipe shrieked, dancing like he'd seen a rat. "He's one of the gypsies who stole me!"

"Give it a rest, Phillipe," Spencer snapped irritably while Faidn held Benedek back. "There's more than one gypsy band. Half the recruits here are gypsies!"

"What about you, Spence?" Thaddeus asked, trying to keep the peace.

"Eh?" The cigar twirled around as his mouth twisted into a grin, "I'm twenty-four. I eloped with the Philletin princess."

* * *

**Word count 3442. Longest chapter yet, eh?**

**So tell me. Which was your favorite scene? Is everything making sense so far? Any ideas for Malcolm's name yet? I keep drawing up blanks.**

**Elvish Kiwi: --chocolate cake to you-- Haha, all will be revealed. And yes, their outfit is being run terribly. I'm glad you picked up on that. Well, I mean, it's obvious, but at least it made an impact on you. And I'm very glad that Eliza and Hollen come across that way. Oh! Tell your brother to start reviewing, or I'll turn this story into a romance like lickity-split, or at least take twice as long to update.**

**InChrist-Billios: --dodges all pokes on the way to the table and serves up chapter like roast beef-- There. See? Anyway, thank you for the review, dear Billi. Keep thinking for Malcolm names. Don't you agree that he needs a different one? And I suppose it was sort of like football, yes. And The Good Luck Rock? Hmm... I never really considered. Although I suppose you're guess is just about how it would have to be if they were hurling it around. For the sake of sounding original, I'll claim it's the size of a tennis ball.**

**orangehotchocolate: Couldn't stop laughing? Wonderful! --chocolate cake with icing and extra cherries-- Phillipe's name is pronounced phil-LEEP, like the horse from Disney's Beauty and the Beast, if you've seen it. Not that is has any connotations with it. Well, Malcolm is a better name then Miglet. I guess I'll be happy with that knowledge.**

**Reviewers for this chapter will receive a vintage, leather-bound journal, for all your writing needs. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the long delay in updating (again), but at least it's extra-long to make up for it. **

**Oh and Spencer didn't really elope with the Philettin princess. Sorry to disappoint; it was never my intention to trick anyone, but apparently Spencer is a better prankster then I thought.**

**Disclaimer is that I have no rights to any of the important characters. Faidn, Hollen, Eliza, and Duke Tiroe are all inventions of the brilliant InChrist-Billios.**

**And ElvishKiwi's little brother better not even read this chapter unless he's going to review.**

* * *

_"The boys clasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright. _

_'Which of us does he mean?' gasped Huckleberry._

_'I dono — peep through the crack. Quick!'_

_'No, _you_, Tom!'_

_'I can't — I can't _do_ it, Huck!'"_

_from _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_, by Mark Twain._

* * *

The nights were growing long and cold. Faidn and Benedek had started a pathetically small fire in the dirt outside their tents. Phillipe soon joined them, wrapped from head to foot in sixteen blankets. Ghost stories were inevitable.

"When the last door creaked shut, oh boy, was she ready to get out of there! But my aunt—may she rest in peace—didn't hear the Thing coming up behind her, and—"

"YARRGH!"

If ever Phillipe had the chance to scream like a girl, this was it. And he did not waste it. Kona's face was painted red, green, and mud, with feathers stuck over his features every which way. Not a particularly scary sight unless you counted the face underneath, but his yell was fairly convincing, and even made Faidn jump a little, though he denied it. After a laugh, and Phillipe stomping off in a flourish of indignation, Benedek suggested they had something good, and a new enterprise was born. They terrified a few passerby's and nearly scared the pants off of Thaddeus, who laughed about it, and agreed to help them out. That's when they saw Spencer strolling through camp, leisurely as a king.

"This," said Faidn, "will be the crowning glory to our accomplishments."

"I don't think we can get him." Thaddeus stated honestly.

Bendek looked skeptical.

"Of course we can!" said Faidn with a great deal of confidence, "But we must be masters of our trade."

Kona nodded solemnly and melted away into the shadows.

Spencer happened upon them then.

"Hie! Is this a campfire? Or did The Good Luck Rock spontaneously combust?"

"Probably the latter. Care to sit and contemplate?" asked Faidn, with expertise.

Spencer did.

"Alright Benedek, keep going. And try to make it scary, would you? I'm falling asleep." Faidn yawned to emphasize his point.

Spencer chuckled.

"So my aunt walked all night long. And that morning, when the sun rose, all misted behind the fog, she saw the outline of a man. It followed her all the way home. Now my aunt was plenty spooked..."

Faidn watched Spencer casually. He was smoking rapidly on his cigar, and reclining against a large boulder.

"And every night after that, a face would appear in the eastern window from sundown till sunup. Anyone who came by that house never came by again. Because they knew. Sooner or later..."

Spencer smiled, as if listening to children discuss the ghouls under their beds.

"In October, it happened. Her daughter, the last of all her family, was found dead on the front porch. Blood was everywhere. And that's when she heard it—the quiet thumping of a monster's heart. Have you ever heard it? Sounding like death drums?"

The time was near. The moment almost come.

"And so it came. Up the stairs with purpose. It knew it did not have to run. The Thing would open each door slowly, then creak it shut after determining she was not there. She grabbed her gilded knife, the one that had started all the trouble, and was prepared to end the Thing's life, no matter what it might cost her."

Finally, a change in Spencer's expression. The firelight gleaming behind his shrouded eyes danced into alertness of what might be out there in the blackness.

"The last door creaked shut. My poor aunt didn't see the Thing sneaking up behind her—"

"I've got a story. Hold on!" Spencer jumped up, grinning.

Kona just stopped himself from barreling into him, checked his yell into a strangled breath, turned on one foot, and ran back into the shadows for a more opportune moment. Faidn would have laughed if he hadn't been so angry with Spencer for ruining their prank.

"My story," he said, casting a palpitating shadow across the boys' faces, "begins four-hundred years ago. In this very spot. You might have noticed that you are not sitting on ordinary rocks and dirt. This was the foundation for a castle called The Tevenian."

The boys protested the lie.

"Oh please, Spencer."

"Spare me the details."

"Hey look guys, I think I found a moat!"

"This looks _nothing_ like a foundation."

"That's what they wanted you to think." Spencer continued, unflustered. The smile on his face suggested he held all the cards.

"The lord of The Tevenian was a brother to the king. Prince Jivale. A young man whom every lady from here to the Ellespeth swooned over. He looked almost just like me, only not quite as muscular. When he was twenty-five, there was a scare. A strange man bolted past the guards into where the Prince was dining. The man skipped right over the marinated duck, the fried bananas, the ambrosia salad, and the goblets of nectar and wine. You know what he went for?"

The boy's minds had been altered by the description of such richness.

"The roasted peacock?" Benedek wondered dreamily, drooling.

"The Prince's neck. He got one bite, SNAP! Before they sliced him through with a carving knife. The royal physicians checked the Prince over, and said he would be fine. No infection, no complications, nothing. But they lied."

"He was rabid."

"Not really. Every day the Prince went to bed a little earlier, and slept in a little later, until he slept all through the day. Laid on his back with a smile on his face, thumbs crossed, and one eye open."

Spencer's knowing smile was like to split his face in half. Faidn wondered if he ever slept with his thumbs crossed.

"But he didn't sleep at night. Not one wink. This itching he got in his neck where the bite was woke him up after sundown."

Faidn waited for Spencer to scratch his neck, ready to call his prank. But he never did, just sort of jerked it back and forth, subtly enough for Faidn to think the gesture was familiar.

"And that's when they started dying. Ten servants in a night; slaughtered like cattle. But no blood. No, no blood at all. They found them in the hallways, shriveled to half their size, raisins of people. Then their were those who didn't die right off. He only took a little from them. But they grew paler and thinner, and he grew stronger and ruddier, and everyone knew it was him, but no one had any proof. Finally someone took it into their own hands, and stabbed him through the chest with a silver stake while he was sleeping."

Faidn noted that Spencer'd had his hand over his heart this whole time.

"One day, he'll return from the dead though. They always do. And that's the scariest part because—"

Spencer's shadow danced jerkily across their faces. Like a witch doctor, inventing ways to heal the fears of his people, or scare them into submitting to his will. Faidn saw all this rationally for just a moment before he was completely drawn in.

"Because when a vampire appears, they seem so friendly. Like one of your tent mates. But you can always tell. Vampires are the only creatures on earth, who can disappear without a trace."

And he vanished.

The boys screamed, but no one moved. They were still inside the circle of dying light. But somewhere out in that blackness, there was a vampire. They heard a sob, a scream, and then silence.

"Kona." Benedek managed though strangled tears.

Nobody moved. Faidn was still trying to convince himself that this was only a prank, since it seemed like something he himself might do. But he was afraid that if he stood, he would either bolt back to his tent, or his knees might give out and he would fall face first into the fire. So he stayed put.

Benedek was still whimpering when a black head whipped out of the darkness and struck him on the neck. The gypsy screamed and reached for the bite. Two long streaks of red made a stark contrast against his skin. Faidn and Thaddeus lost their heads completely and yelled until their lungs were raw. When they finally ceased to draw breath, Benedek was writhing on the ground, and a maniacal laugh was booming out of the darkness. Then the laugh began to change, and it was just Spencer's contagious chuckle. He reentered the ring of light, busting his gut with hilarity, and wiping red paint off his fingers. Benedek stood, shook himself off, and looked particularly glum about being fooled.

"If only you could have seen your faces..." chortled Spencer.

Thaddeus was too shocked to make a reply, and Faidn's throat hurt too bad. Kona edged into view, shrugging sheepishly.

"He say, he _really_ bite me if I not play along."

Finally Faidn found his tongue.

"But what—how did? How did you do that?"

Spencer finished his laugh, taking a good deal more time then the boys would have enjoyed. Every time he look up at them, he burst into fresh merriment. Thaddeus and Kona ended up joining in, Benedek frowned merrily, and Faidn gaped like a fish whilst trying not to look too foolish.

"Moving invisibly is an ancient art. I'll teach you, if you want."

"To be magicians?" Faidn asked incredulously.

"No!" Spencer snorted, "It's physically possible, without any help of _that_ kind. You simply move where your audience won't expect."

"Where did you go?"

"To the ground. I rolled out of sight."

"Without making any noise."

"Another art."

"Well, teach us both," said Thaddeus, all smiles, "because I have to pull that vampire trick on my brother when we meet again."

* * *

"Duke Tiroe. This is insane."

The Duke smiled pleasantly at the woodsman and trumpeted at Kendall to treat a specific bundle with care. If Hollen thought traveling through a pathless wood with thirty men, five mules, and laden carts was insanity, perhaps it was well that he was not aware of the entirety of the Duke's plan. Whether the Duke was fully acquainted his own plan or not, remains to be seen.

"Nonsense, Mr. O'Neil! It's brilliance! You ought to be a Berensian General, Hollen, thinking up a scheme like this. What man would think himself at risk from his own backdoor? He wakes up, pops his head out his bedroom window. There below, an army of men! He turns his head: cannons, to the left of him! Cannons to the right of him! Cannons—"

"Thirty men is hardly an army. And I told you he could not be bluffed out of his hold, Duke Tiroe."

"Then we'll volley him! The thunder will weaken his knees!"

"You have no shot."

"That raises no quandary for me, Mr. O'Neil. The terror! Amid the sheer terror of it, they will not even notice. You called for a diversion, and I am here to provide it. Stick to _your_ task, if you please, sir."

Hollen shrugged. The Duke droned on with an animated expression of voice that made the woodsman's ears buzz.

The entire party had entered Molln two days earlier, and had been granted full permission from the king's officials to 'engage in negotiations' with Jakob Cox in the return of Mrs. O'Neil. They'd left the road about three miles back, and were now hacking it through dense thickets in a nearly impassible wood so that Cox might have no knowledge of their coming.

"Two miles more." Hollen assured, in answer to something that might have been a question from the Duke.

"And then stay low until nightfall, when we cross the last half-mile to the fortress! Oh the adventure!" he clapped an arm around Hollen's shoulders, "What glory we shall gain for ourselves! And I'm sure your wife will be returned to us, in keen manner, of course. But what fun!"

They made camp in a copse, with the rivulet running by on its way to the palace.

"Hollen," said the Duke, a good deal more sonorously then Hollen would have preferred, so close they were to the castle, "how far does this creek wind, before it reaches the castle? If indeed, it reaches the castle at all. I should think it would, for if I were to build the structure of my residence in these pristine woods, I would certainly take advantage of such a delightful stream. But of course, I am now reminded that it does run down to the castle, for it is this very stream you followed to find a town, so that you might learn you whereabouts. That is in fact, why I questioned you on the matter at all, for I knew you must be sure of how long the trickle of water curled through the woods before reaching castle. Funny how the mind wanders! It grows decidedly worse with age. Why the other day, I was—"

"I'd say around three miles," replied Hollen, who stopped listening after the fourth word to calculate the distance in his mind.

"Excellent!" he grasped a bag from among the plethora of supplies, then knelt and dropped one end of a thin knotted rope into the stream. Hollen watched out of curiosity for a few minutes, then left to attend to one of the mules, as the Duke muttered and scribbled away into a book. After twenty minutes of being engaged with such, he gave orders for two large barrels, and a sack of powder to be emptied into the stream. Then, bidding good day to Hollen in the lengthy manner which we expect from him, he found his bedroll, and took a nap.

* * *

Eliza's rose had died two days before. She'd had a childlike vision of being dressed in white and led down the aisle by two men in glittering armor, as if to her execution. Instead, she still wore her brown cotton (it had been warmer the day she dressed in it), and was not even allowed the courtesy of a bath. And, it appeared as if Cox was not going to force a marriage at all. _Pity_, Eliza bemoaned with a smile._ I _had_ looked forward to saying 'I _don't_!_'.

"Eliza, I'm tired of arguing with you. I'm tired of pleading with you. And, for the last time, I am tired of feeding you! So. Until we can have a conversation which is pleasant for both of us, I'm locking you back into the stable. No food, no water, until you comply."

Jakob's whole effect was lost somewhere between the terrible attempt at a casual tone, and the fact that Eliza knew him too well to believe him. She rolled her eyes, and was escorted—not to the stable, but the room Malcolm had led her to, two weeks before. The door clicked shut behind her: the grating of a key, footsteps, silence. She sat on the straw tick, while the sun set seductively behind the faded curtains, guardians of the glass portal to the outside.

When she had been a little girl, six, or seven, maybe, she'd held with all the might of her fingertips onto her mother's windowpane, so that she might peek her eyes over. She pretended that a window really _was_ a secret door into another world. A fairy world, where the flowers would be large as a palace, and she would dress in dewdrops. Maybe an upside down world, so you could leave footprints on the ceiling! Or even, a land beyond the sun, where you could hear the songs of every nation, and run forever without getting tired.

Eliza smiled with the memory. Outside of this window, all she could see was the gathering gloom. The moon climbing like a circle of white satin on a velvet sky. The light of it would pierce through the drapes and stab at her eyelids when she tried to sleep. It was at that moment that Eliza came closer to crying then she had throughout her whole ordeal. And just when she had stood, and paced, and rubbed her arms vigorously, and told herself to be practical, then given over and drawn one great breath fit to produce numerous sobs, there was a commotion on the west side of the castle, and she was distracted.

* * *

"Hold your fire, men; the lord of the castle's come out to speak," Kendall announced in response to an order from his master. The Duke took the stand.

"You, sir, you are a scoundrel, you stealer of women, what do you have to say for yourself? You horse-muck! You disgust me. I am ashamed to be talking to you. Bring out Mrs. O'Neil immediately, or I'll blast you and your sorry servants to pieces before you can say your prayers."

Cox peeked his head over the parapet.

"She's no longer a Mrs. O'Neil. She's renounced her husband and taken the name of Cox," he said, with enough gumption to give him credit for gutsiness.

Duke Tiroe rolled his eyes, snorted like a stamping horse, and shouted, using the very most of his lung capacity.

"Give him a volley!"

The five cannons had been hewn from the trunks of trees, clumsily made things that were not meant to fire anything more than uneasiness into the heart of a foe. Tiroe's men filled them with powder (mostly sulfur) then stuffed the ends with bracken and rocks. The result was an explosion, usually small and harmless. Usually.

"Stuff that in good and tight, Harris. Wedge it."

"But sir..."

"You heard me! Good. Now heave men, heave!"

A look of glee accompanied the Duke's face as they hauled the cannons right up against the castle wall. He ordered his men back, and lit the five fuses himself. Cox ran as fast as Tiroe did, though in the opposite direction.

* * *

"The fool blew the wall down!" Hollen shouted by way of greeting while bursting through the door of Eliza's prison.

She beamed, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

"Jakob?" she asked with mild curiosity.

"No!" came the contemptible answer, as her rescuer yanked her into the hallway. "Duke Tiroe."

"This is a story I must hear!" Eliza yelled over the din. Servants were running past, paying them no heed. They turned a corner and were met with a wall of leaping flames.

"He's lit the whole blasted place on fire! This isn't what I had in mind when I asked for a distraction."

"You should have known better," she laughed, beating out a lick of orange with a rug before she risked stepping any further. "Don't you remember what his servant said? You remember, when that boy came to tell us Faidn was sick, and was staying at the Duke's for a few days until he recovered."

"Yes, yes, woman. But what does that have to do with what's at hand?" Hollen tried a door, but cursed when the iron handle burnt his hand. Eliza gave him a reproachful look.

"He told us about the time Duke Tiroe set the Royal Palace on fire. 'An admirable boy', the King said of him, 'but a pyromaniac."

"I don't keep such ridiculous stories in my brain, if I can help it."

"You ought to, they can come in handy, as you have learnt today." And then, after they had tried two staircases and a closet door, "Don't you know the way out, Hollen?"

"I'm getting there."

"Why didn't you go out the way you came in?"

"Because it wasn't a raging inferno at the time!" he knocked a door down with his shoulder.

"Look, let's follow them." She motioned towards a group of screaming servants.

"We don't need to follow them. I can find my own way."

"Excuse me, Mr. O'Neil. Would you like your wife broiled or crispy?"

* * *

"Kendall, see how they run out of their ruined home, like ants from an anthill! And yet not one shall escape! What's that? Heavens no, don't kill them. But they're all under arrest until they prove themselves unrelated to the crimes of their master. Well, no, of course we can't stop them all. There are hundreds of them. But the creek shall. Hand me that burning stick. Yes, just that little one. Now."

The Duke held the stick aloft, and raised his voice: the only voice that could be heard among that chaos.

"Surrender yourselves, my good people, and you shall be spared! Do not think you can escape into the woods! The very things of nature will be against you, if you do."

No one heeded him.

"Then, river, rise up against them!" He dropped the flaming branch into the water, the water that was black with powder. It raced along the banks until a winding wall of fire separated the servants from escape. The Duke strutted proud as a rooster at the success of his scheme, and ordered his men to secure them.

* * *

"_Here_ we are." Hollen kicked open a door.

The smoke that choked them in the narrow hallway floated gently into the magnificent foyer and out the open windows. Eliza, in a practical manner, made her way straight for the front door. Hollen stopped to examine the display of arms on the north wall.

"Liza, come look at this. This bow is in the eastern style. Philettin made, I'd wager."

"It's very pretty dear. Now please let's go, because we are going to die."

Her husband couldn't argue with that statement, and followed her to the exit. But they were stopped, just as they reached it, by a despairing cry behind them. It was Cox, leaping for a hunting spear off the wall of such trophies, and holding it point-end to his gut.

"Do you see what you've driven me to! Do you see, Lizzie! Curse you!" he was crying tears that men cry when they go mad with fear and loss.

"Jakob, please don't." Liza stepped towards him, not without feminine pity.

The little man sobbed and screamed at her, and one could see he had neither the courage nor the cowardice to go through with suicide. But something behind Eliza panicked him, and he turned the spear there. He threw weakly, but with desperation, so that when the object struck Liza in the face, she remembered nothing more.

* * *

"Get that one there, Harrison! That grey man, by the river. Sweet Genevieve, he's jumped it, fire and all! After him! Jeffers, you help! No, I don't expect you to— oh forgo, forgo, let me." The Duke helped to rush the grey man, who was making his way with unnatural speed towards the safety of the woods.

"I'm nearly on you, good sir, it would serve your reputation of character well to give up your wild flight and put to with your master. His ill name shall not reflect on you, but lack of loyalty, even to an unworthy man shall. Ah, now you turn and face me. But not to surrender; I see that by the gleam of your eye and the curl of your lip. But I shall not give thee chance to draw thy weapon!" Tiroe leaped upon the man and wrestled him easily to the ground.

Kendall was the first to see Hollen exit the burning castle, carrying the limp woman in his arms.

"Is that the missus 'Neil, sir? Is she dead?"

"No, just a knock to the head. The butt end of a spear got her. She'll be alright in a minute." He carried her well beyond any fires, though he had a long way to go before he could cross the stream safely, and laid her gently on the ground.

"I shall fetch some water for her wound, sir, and my master, that he may know the mission a success."

"No need for the latter, Kendall, there he is now. But bring water, and lots of it. I could empty a barrel. And better send someone to fetch Cox out of the foyer, before the place burns down on him. He's unconscious too, though it wasn't any weapon that struck him." The blue of Hollen's eyes grew stronger with jealous anger as he said it.

The Duke arrived within talking distance as Kendall left.

"There you are Hollen, finally. I was beginning to wonder if you were lost, and I'd have to enter the wreckage to draw you out as the oxen draw out—"

"Not lost, just roasting."

"You shouldn't have dawdled. You could have been killed in there! The blast from the explosion alone could have killed a man."

Hollen lifted his eyes to look at the duke from his kneeling position. Tiroe's face was black with soot, and half his hair was gone.

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Then why, when I asked for a simple distraction, did you blow the wall to kingdom come?"

The Duke huffed with the air of the persecuted.

"It worked, didn't it? But Mrs.O'Neil! The noble woman lies before us both while we chatter men's talk. Shame to us both! Is she well?"

"She will be. Presently."

"Then tell me of your escapades while we tend to her."

Hollen replied that there was nothing to tell, although he was forced to convey the account of how Liza came by her senseless state. The Duke then felt it fair to make known his own adventures, and proceeded to explain how he chased after the grey man. Hollen asked for a full description of his appearance.

"It sounds like the man who Cox was conferring with. He had a deformity of the mouth, I think. Did you get him?"

"Yes. And then he disappeared."

"Got away, huh?"

"No, Mr. O'Neil. He vanished."

* * *

**So there you are. Word count 4244. **

**orangehotchocolate: Totally amazing, huh? Wow. I feel well-loved. Phillipe is funny, I'm glad you like him. He's one of (or shall become one of) my favorites, I think. If you remember in the first chapter with Spencer in it, he has a hand-rolled cigar. So he makes them himself. Don't ask me where he gets the materials, he's a resourceful kind of guy.**

**InChrist-Billios: You're really too free with your compliments. Just remember that all the good characters are yours. But thank you for harping on particular lines. You made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when you mentioned elephants and regimental glory. **

**FaylinnNorse: Ah, a diehard Spencer fan. Too bad he didn't actually elope. But can you imagine? He sure is a fun guy to read about, but I personally would hate to be married to him. The plethora of characters are still confusing? Darn! Hopefully things will sort themselves out, the more chapters everybody's in. **

**ElvishKiwi: Another point for Spencer. And the Duke. Isn't he great though? Thank Billios for that one, and pressure her to finish writing 'Not All Princes are Nice' with Cimh, because Duke Tiroe is in it, as a boy. That ought to be interesting. You flatter me, though. As if 'And such fodder as he is for more of your clever lines' isn't a clever line itself! **

**Alright, journals for all! (I think that's what I promised last chapter) And since I can't think of anything good to give out, we'll have a contest. --thinks up contest on the spot-- Oh! I got it! First one to post a name and/or character will have it in the story. Catch is the character has to be one of the Duke's servants, and he has to have what all the other servants have in common. Which has something to do with their names. Hopefully that made sense, and I'll have a fun new character to mess around with, next chapter. **

**LoBuck,**

**Gone!**


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